


Friggin' Awesome

by frecklesarechocolate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 8.23 Coda, Angst, Cooking, M/M, Spoilers, Supernatural Tumblr Prompt Thing, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:10:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklesarechocolate/pseuds/frecklesarechocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fallen!Cas needs something to distract him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friggin' Awesome

 

Cas is grumpy. He is  _always_ grumpy. Ever since he fell, Cas has been one grumpy little shit, and it’s starting to wear on Dean.

Dean’s friggin’ thrilled that Cas is around, don’t misunderstand, but he just wishes Cas would be a little more  _cheerful._ Oh, Dean gets that Cas fell (was pushed, let’s be honest), he gets that adjustment is pretty damn hard, he’s had to do some  _adjusting_ in his own life, but - and he’s being honest here, so don’t judge too harshly - Dean just wants his friend back. 

Yeah, Cas was grumpy back  _then_ too, but used to be, he could be diverted with a lame joke or a cheeseburger. Nothing works now.

So Dean’s really surprised when he gets back to his room and finds Cas propped up on Dean’s bed, watching a cooking show on the Food Network.

And Cas isn’t just watching the show, he’s  _taking notes._  

“Cas?” Dean asks, because it’s not like Cas doesn’t have his own room, and it’s not like there isn’t a tv out in the war room that Cas can watch.

“Shh,” Cas says, not moving his eyes from the screen. He squints a bit at something the chef is doing, makes a note or two, and then, when the show goes to commercial, looks at Dean. “Hello, Dean.”

“What are you doing?”

“Watching tv. This cooking show is fascinating. I think I’d like to try making  this.” He taps the notepad with the eraser end of his pencil, and it makes a bright rapping sound. Dean leans over and sees that it’s a recipe for some sort of chicken dish. There’s a surge of something at once hopeful and warm in Dean’s chest. Maybe, just maybe, this is the way out of Cas’s deep-rooted depression. Or, at least, a step in the direction of trying to live again. 

As hard as the adjustment has been for Dean, it’s been a thousand-fold worse for Cas, and any sign that Cas is showing in doing something is a good sign, as far as Dean is concerned.

They shop, and Cas takes to it like a duck to water, armed with a list and a cart. He navigates up and down every single aisle -  _every single one_ - explaining that, “the chef was quite particular about the items we should use, and this is the first time I’ve done this, Dean. I want to get it right.”

Dean just nods and tries not to calculate the growing tab as more and more items drop into the belly of the cart. Just when Dean thinks he’s about to explode (if the store plays that goddamn muzak version of Motley Crue’s Home Sweet Home one more time, he may very well go postal), Cas declares that they’re ready to check out. 

Back at the bunker, Cas and Dean unload all the groceries under Kevin and Sam’s keen eyes. The two sit at the table in the kitchen, a pair of magpies, and they watch as the proceedings unfold.

Cas stands in the center of the kitchen and frowns.

“What’s wrong, Cas?” Dean asks, although he’s not really sure he wants to know.

“I need an apron. I don’t see one in here.”

Dean reaches into one of the drawers by the stove and pulls out a towel. “Yeah, we don’t have any. Just tie this around your waist.”

He holds it up, but it’s clear that Cas isn’t quite sure. Ignoring Sam’s (and Kevin’s) snickering, Dean reaches his arms around Cas’s waist and ties the towel. 

“Thank you, Dean.” 

Cas has marshaled his ingredients and lined them up on the counter. Glancing at the recipe, which Cas has posted on the door of the fridge, Dean realizes that Cas has arranged the ingredients  _in order._  He resists the urge to roll his eyes at the same time that his heart makes that funny squeezing feeling again. 

The dish is not overly complicated, and Cas sets to work, moving from one step to the next with a great deal of flow and ease. Cas manages to balance the more complex parts of the recipe easily, and before they know it, the chicken is roasting away in the oven. The delicious scent of chicken fills the air, and Dean’s stomach rumbles loudly.

“Almost time to feed the beast, Cas,” Sam says from his spot at the table. Dean just flips Sam off.

When the meal is finally ready, they sit at the table and dig in. For a long few moments, there is no sound in the room  other than the clink of silverware against china plates and the occasional sounds of contentment (mostly from Dean).

“Oh my god, Cas,” Dean says, breaking the silence. “This is amazing.” 

Cas looks pleased, a small smile growing across his face, and he looks to Kevin and Sam, seeking their approval as well. They’ve both just put enormous forkfuls of food in their own mouths, so they each give the thumbs-up sign and return their focus to their eating. 

When the meal is over, Sam and Kevin kick Cas and Dean out of the kitchen. “You cooked, Cas, so you get out of dish duty.” Dean seems to have just lucked out.

They settle on the couch, a comfortable but ratty thing that Den and Sam found a few weeks back. 

“Cas, that was really amazing.” 

Cas smiles, a small, shy thing, and he looks at his hands. “Thank you, Dean. I just wanted to make something. To create something.”

Dean’s chest swells again, and he has an overwhelming urge to reach over and grab Cas’s hand. After several aborted attempts and a stern self-admonition (“Man up, Winchester!”), Dean takes Cas’s hand and laces their fingers together. Cas looks up at Dean, startled.

“I’m just glad that you wanted to try, Cas.”

Cas makes a soft noise of agreement. “There’s something else I’ve been wanting to try,” he says, and he looks up at Dean through his lowered eyelashes.

The squeezing feeling is back, and it feels like it’s getting ready to cut off his breath, but Dean just inhales as much air as he can and nods. Cas smiles that small little smile of his again, and he leans forward to press his lips to Dean’s. He pulls away almost the second his lips touch Dean’s, but stays close enough that Dean can feel Cas’s lips moving when he speaks.

“That was nice.”

Dean surges forward and cups Cas’s face in his palms, kissing Cas intently. Cas tastes of their dinner, a hint of rosemary and whatever spice it was he used in the rice, but underneath is that hint of something more exotic that Dean can’t quite place. Cas makes a startled noise as he’s pressed back against the couch under the weight of Dean, but then he gets with the program and his hands settle around Dean’s waist. 

“That was very nice,” Cas says after a while.

Dean, whose breathing is just a hair more labored than Cas’s is, laughs softly and presses a kiss to the tip of Cas’s chin. “It was awesome, Cas.”

“We’re going to do that again, right?” Cas asks, and Dean closes his eyes against the smallness of Cas’s voice, as if he feels like he doesn’t deserve to ask for this.

“As much as you want, Cas,” Dean says.

“Okay,” Cas replies. He kisses Dean again. “Because I think I’ll want to do this a whole lot.” Cas seems finally engaged in the world again, at least for right now, enjoying something as simple as cooking and making out. Dean’s pretty happy about that. He also figures that he gets to kiss his best friend whenever he wants, and his best friend wants to kiss him as much as possible, and that’s friggin’ awesome.

 


End file.
